“Ah,” the woman nodded, her voice soft and gentle and understanding. “You Romans are a superstitious lot. Far more than we Egyptians. No doubt when you go into these fevers your servants think you commune with the gods? Perhaps even frighten those who do not know of your sickness?”
“Yes, quite true, my lady. Fortunately, these fevers are very rare. And I am aware when they are soon about to grip me. There are methods, unpleasant methods, which can push back these ravings if the situation calls for it. I’ve been blessed in the respect that a fever never incapacitated me in my career.”
Hatshepsut nodded absently, still gripping the tribune’s arm in hers, and stared into the study watching the doctor. It seemed so natural. Not as a signal for a possible s****l encounter, but as an old frien
